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Poem by George MacDonald
To whom the heavy burden clings, It yet may serve him like a staff; One day the cross will break in wings, The sinner laugh a holy laugh. The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a tree, His humble stature set him high; The Lord the little man did see Who sought the great man passing by. Up to the tree he came, and stopped: 'To-day,' he said, 'with thee I bide.' A spirit-shaken fruit he dropped, Ripe for the Master, at his side. Sure never host with gladder look A welcome guest home with him bore! Then rose the Satan of rebuke And loudly spake beside the door: 'This is no place for holy feet; Sinners should house and eat alone! This man sits in the stranger's seat And grinds the faces of his own!' Outspoke the man, in Truth's own might: 'Lord, half my goods I give the poor; If one I've taken more than right With four I make atonement sure!' 'Salvation here is entered in; This man indeed is Abraham's son!' Said he who came the lost to win- And saved the lost whom he had won.
George MacDonald's other poems:
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